LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J 



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|||J.XITED STATES OF AMERICA, *l 



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POEMS 



BY 



CARRIE L. BROWN. 




/ (^ BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY C. M. BROWN, 

CORXER CHAUNCY AND ESSEX STS. 



1867. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 

CHARLES M. BROWN, 

In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



ELECTROTTPED AT THE 

BOSTON STEREOTTPE FOUNDRT, 

4 SPRING LANE. 



NOTE. 



The father of the author, who publishes this little book of 
poems, would state, in issuing them for public acceptance, that 
he does so in obedience to the earnest solicitations of many 
friends desirous of procuring a copy ; and also to encourage his 
child in the further prosecution and development of those powers 
which a beneficent and all-wise Providence has bestowed upon 
her. In a critical examination of its pages, there may, and 
doubtless Avill, be found some rhythmical errors ; but when we 
take into consideration the tender age of the author, — she 
being now but fifteen years old, — that her advantages have been 
quite limited, owing to ill health, and that some of the poems 
were prepared five years since, we think that her compositions 
will compare favorably with the earlier productions of those 
poetical writers who have preceded her : and we ask, in her 
behalf, a kind reception of her little work. 

(3) 



DEDICATED TO MY PARENTS, 



A DAUGHTER'S LOVE. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

The Violet, 9 

A Midnight Vision, 12 

The Child's Glimpse of Heaven, 16 

The Two Good Nights, 17 

The Mother's Chair, 20 

On The Death of my Favorite Kitten, 22 

The Burial at Sea, 24 

The Faded Blossom, 26 

A Prayer for Effie, 28 

Twilight, 30 

Lines on the Death of a Child, 32 

Waiting, 33 

The Dying Volunteer, 35 

(5) 



6 CONTENTS. 

The Watcher by the Sea, 37 

The Mother's Bereavement, 40 

The Broken- Hearted, 41 

The Little Boots, 43 

To Mattie, 45 

Drifting Onward, 47 

Little Freddie, 48 

Our Christian Community, 50 

On the Death of Alice and Freddie, 53 

The Household Treasure, 55 

The Unseen Land, 57 

Over the River, . . . . , 59 

To Carrie, . 62 

The Wide, Wide World, 64 

Childhood Days, 66 

Maud Lee, , ... 68 

There is no Death, 71 

The Midnight Hour, 73 

One Friend, 76 

Lines to a Beloved Friend, 77 

The Curl of Hair, 78 



CONTENTS. 7 

Lady Evelyn's Wooing, 81 

Life's Changes, 87 

An Old Man's Reverie, 90 

The Child's Lament, 94 

Lines to Little Fannie, 97 

The Captive Bird's Lament, 99 

Memory, 103 

"The Brook and River," 105 

The Blind Child, 107 

The Angel's Call, 109 

Castles in the Air, Ill 



F o E m: s 



THE VIOLET 



" Why bloomest here in this lone spot?" 

I asked a Violet fair : 
'Twas growing in a shady dell, 

And breathing heaven's pure air. 

" Why rear thy little tender head 

In this cold world of ours ? 
Sure, you should deck the royal crown 

Of the goddess of the flowers. 

" No other floweret blooms within 

This lonely, shady dell ; 
Come, answer this, my angel fair, 

And thou thy secret tell ! " 

(9) 



10 POEMS, 

The Violet raised her lowly head, 

And bent her cup of blue, 
And the light winds fanned her gentle form, 

And bathed its petals with dew. 

*' My Maker placed me here," she said, 

" In this fairy-haunted spot ; 
And though no other flower blooms near, 

I know I'm not forgot. 

" I am a little tender thing, 

And I am frail and small, 
And though I bloom by man unseen, 

God watcheth over all." 

" This is a blessed thought," I cried ; 

" Teach me like thee to live ; 
Teach me, O modest Violet, 

My daily thanks to give." 

She raised her lovely, humble head : 
" Be good ! be patient ! ever. 

For God will hear thy weakest cry. 
And help thy poor endeavor." 



POEMS. 11 

As homeward, then, my steps I bent, 

The tears would slowly fall ; 
But in my heart the words still rang, 

" He hears the weakest call." 

Next morn I sought the lonely dell, 

To cull the floweret fair ; 
I looked around, but all in vain ; 

The Violet was not there. 

At last I found the blossom pure, 

With drooping, withered head ; 
I spoke, but no sweet answer came : 

The Violet — it was dead ! 

The winds of heaven had roughly blown 

That flower so frail and small. 
But those sweet words came back to rtie, 

*' God watcheth over all." 



12 POEMS. 



A MIDNIGHT VISION. 



'Tis the last night of the Old Year, 

And I turn, with tearful eye, 
To gaze on the ceaseless ticking clock, 

And see the goddess die. 

Silently, tearfully, there she stands, 
With a wreath upon her brow — 

A wreath of forget-me-nots, faded and worn 
Hush ! she is speaking now ! 

*' I am fading, child of vision, 
Leaving joy and mirth behind ; 

With my garments drawn about me. 
Sink I to my death-bed kind. 

*' I remember my bright birthday. 
And my playmates kind and true — 

How we rambled in the meadows, 
Underneath the sky of blue. 



POEMS. 13 

** I remember, too, my cliildhood, 

When I ventured to this eartli : 
I have heard the moans of sorrow, 

I have heard the songs of mirth. 

" I have seen the poor and trembling 
Crushed beneath the rich and proud ; 

But my pains and joys are ended ; 
Close I draw my heavy shroud. 

" For on yonder clond of brightness 

Floats my little sister fair, 
And her small white hands are weaving 

Crowns of roses for her hair." 

Hushed her tones were for a moment j 
Down her cheeks there rolled a tear ; 

And I looked to where she pointed, 
And beheld the glad New Year. 

Light her voice was, sweet her smile ; 

Gay and happy was her face ; 
And she proudly, and with triumph, 

Took her long, long wished-for place. 



14 POEMS. 

In her small and taper fingers 
She a gilded book was holding ; 

And the pages, spotless, pure, 
Its bright covers were enfolding. 

I saw the " Old Year " venture near, 
With pale and tearful eye : 

"You've just begun to live," she said ; 
" My time has come to die. 

" The book you hold is clean and fresh, 
But mine is soiled and worn, 

Its pages blotted, its covers old, 
The pictures from it torn. 

" Although the task was sad for me, 
Each daily thought of sin, 

I in this book, so soiled and worn. 
Have penned it down therein. 

" But now my work on earth is done, 
My heaven-born sister fair ; 

And unfading seem the roses 
In your bright and golden hair. 



POEMS. 15 

" But fading is my coronet, 

While brighter grows my crown ; 

Now all my painful tasks are o'er, 
Gladly I lay me down." 

I looked around in vain surprise 

To clasp a mournful form ; 
But I, alas, was all alone ; 

My vision — it had gone. 

Next morn the breezes whispered mild, 

The bells were ringing clear. 
Proclaiming, with a joyful sound. 

The birth of the glad " New Year." 



16 POEMS. 



THE CHILD'S GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN. 

WRITTEN AT TEN YEARS OF AGE. 

Mother, such a glorious dream ! 
All lieaven seemed open to my sight ; 

The palaces, and sunny beams, 

And God was there, a living light. 

And O, dear mother, an angel took 
And led me upward, by the hand, 

And showed me there a glorious book, 
All bound with gilt, and golden bands. 

And there were angels, mother dear, 
So good, so fair, so true ; 

1 should not wish to stay long here, 
Were it not for leaving you. 

But now, mamma, the dream is past, 

And Heaven has vanished from my view ; 

And, dear mamma, I wake at last. 
And find I am alone with you. 



POEMS. 17 



THE TWO GOOD NIGHTS 



We remember, we remember, 

A little gentle girl, 
That charmed us with her lovely eyes, 

And head of golden curls. 



&' 



She was our youngest blossom — 
A pet of some four years ; 

Her path was crowned with roses, 
And free from childhood's tears. 

Her merry voice resounded 
All day in gleesome song, 

While she sported in the garden. 
The cheerful flowers among. 

And when the lamps of evening 
Were lighted up on high. 

She'd stand, with finger pointing 
To the calm, clear, azure sky. 
2 



18 POEMS. 

'* See, mother dear, those lamps that shine 

To give us light below ; 
If Jesus would come down for me, 

You'd surely let me go. 

For there the streets are paved with gold, 
And hung with crystals bright ; " 

And, saying this, she'd kiss our cheeks, 
And bid us all good night. 

A sudden fear would fill our hearts. 
Lest our fair home might be 

Bereft of this dear loved one's form 
And merry voice of glee. 

The years passed on with rapid flight, 
And all was bright and gay ; 

And still our darling sported round 
In youthful, careless play. 

At last, the dreaded shadow fell 

Over our household band : 
Death smiled upon our fairest one ; 

He grasped her gentle hand. 



POEMS. 19 

*' You'll come with me," he sternly said ; 

" My summons all obey ; " 
And then her spirit winged its flight, 

And left the form of clay. 

It was but once she raised her head, 

And said, with smile of light, 
" Nay ! do not weep, my friends so dear : 

I wish you all good night. " 



20 POEMS. 



THE MOTHER'S CHAIR. 



I SEE the chair where oft she sat, 
Engaged in pleasant, social chat ; 
There is her cane, and there's her cap, 
And there the bed where she used to nap. 

The room seems dreary, lonely, and cold ; 
It does not look as it did of old ; 
The shutters are broken, the curtains are torn, 
And I sit weeping, sad, and lone. 

It is full three years since my mother died ; 
And I stood with sister, side by side. 
And looked into the. grave, so cold and deep. 
When they laid her down for her long, last sleep. 

So this is the reason I cherish the chair. 
Because my dear mother so often sat there ; 
But now it is vacant ; she has left it and gone, 
And sits with bright Seraphs round the throne. 



POEMS. 21 

But her room seems lonely, dreary, and cold ; 
It does not look as it did of old ; 
The shutters are broken, the curtains are torn, 
And here I sit M^eeping, sad, and lone. 

But I will not mourn, for I know to-day, 
She has risen on wings, and flown away 
To join the blest " beyond the river," 
And sing God's praises forever and ever. 



22 POEMS. 



ON THE DEATH OF MY FAVORITE KITTEN. 



Gone thou art, and thy bed is made 
Under the snow, so cold and chill ; 
Gone thou art, and silent thou art, 

But thy memory makes my bosom thrill. 

Gone thou art : O, I loved thee so 

When thou wert here 'mid our household band ! 
But now thou art gone, lying under the snow, 

No more to come, or to feed from my hand. 

I can see thy grave from the window-pane, 

Down under the apple tree ; 
And my tears fall fa»t, like summer rain, 

When I think, sweet pet, of thee. 

Thou art lying still, and thy earrings red 

Are covered by cold, cold snow ; 
And O, sweet one, how my heartstrings bled 

When I was told that thou must go ! 



POEMS. 23 

But gone thou art, my little one, 

Free from all' sorrow and pain ; 
Free from all ills, thy life is clone. 

While my tears fall fast like rain. 

But gone thou art, and thy bed is made 
Under the snow so cold and deep ; 

Gone thou art, and silent thou art. 
And o'er thy memory I sit and weep. 



24 POEMS. 



THE BUPvIAL AT SEA 



The deep dark sea was tossing 

Within its rocky bed, 
And wildly flew the sea-birds 

In numbers over head. 

The proud white ship was sailing, 

But mourners clustered there, 
Weeping, with heavy anguish. 

Over the young and fair. 

For days and nights we nursed him, 

And held his slender form. 
And furled the sails so noiselessly 

To shield him from the storm. 

We prayed and Avept, and wept and smiled. 

And sighed for land iu vain ; 
The sea-cliffs towered overhead, 

And blew the wind and rain. 

At last, on one calm, lovely day, 
The child lay down to die, 



POEMS. 25 

Beneath — the wild, dark, dashing waves, 
Above — the clear, blue sky. 

We robed him in his garments white, 

And wrapped him in the sheet. 
And weeping mourners gathered round, 

Our darling's face to greet. 

The voice of prayer then rose aloft 

To Him who never sleeps ; 
One hurried kiss — then all was o'er : 

Wc laid him in the deep. 

The green, damp rocks his pillows are, 

The coral reefs his bed. 
And seaweed gathers o'er his form. 

And twines around his head. 

Our noble ship sped swiftly on. 

And days and nights did pass. 
And, gathered in one stricken band, 

AYe reached the laud at last. 

Dark rose the cliffs on Afric's sands. 

But brought no balm to me ; 
My thoughts still lingered round the spot 

Of the buried one at sea. 



26 POEMS. 



THE FADED BLOSSOM, 



Softly enter that darkened room, 
Shrouded now in deepest gloom, 
And gaze a while on the inmate there, 
Then turn away and breathe a prayer. 

'Tis a little form, of simple mould, 
Yet its forehead fair is pale and cold ; 
Its mild blue eyes, like the orb of day, 
Have passed forever from sight away. 

Ye press the cold lips to thine own. 
And call her name in loving tone ; 
Ye smooth the curls, and murmur low, 
" My child ! my child ! I loved thcc so ! 

Yet she heeds it not- — thy little one ; 
That merry voice, alas ! has gone 
To sing with angels up in heaven, 
Among the ransomed and forgiven. 



POEMS. 27 

Yc lay aside her simple dress, 

And miss her soft and sweet caress, 

While the tears flow fast, and ye long to greet 

The remembered *' patter of Uttle feet." 

The children stand, with tear-dimmed eye, 
Saying, *' Will sister come to us by and by?" 
Alas ! poor mother, it seems so hard ! 
But know it is your " Maker, God," — 

That has bereft you of your child ; 
Then hush your agony, so wild. 
And look above, to you bright heaven. 
Where she's waiting to meet you, blest and 
forgiven. 



28 POEMS. 



A PRAYER FOR EFFIE 



Darling EfRe ! cherub child ! 
Tossing, in thy glee so wild, 
Back upon thy forehead fair 
All thy wealth of golden hair ! 

Racing, in thy merry glee, 
Showering kisses now on me, 
Seeming like an angel bright. 
From that heavenly land of light ! 

Darling Effie ! cherub girl ! 
'Neath thy restless, tossing curl, 
Peeps thy face, so round and sweet. 
That I so often love to greet. 

Now thy hand, so fair and white, 
Passes o'er my wondering sight. 
And, in measures soft and slow. 
Falls thy lisping words, so low. 



POEMS. 29 



Father ! guide my little oae ; 
Lead her safely to thy home ; 
Free from care and earth's alarms, 
Saviour ! fold her in thine arms. 

Press her to thy loving breast ; 
Free from pain, O, let her rest, 
Till, at last, we meet above, 
And join to sing redeeming love ! 



80 POEMS. 



TWILIGHT 



Softly now the " Shades of Evening" 
Gather round our Mother Earth, 

And the laborers, home returning, 
Spend the hours in festive mirth. 

From the door, at evening's twilight. 
Comes the busy housewife neat, — 

Comes, with song and joyous laughter. 
Comes with light and tripping feet, — 

To welcome home their dear beloved ones 

From the labors of the day ; 
And, with rosy, beaming faces, 

Come the children from their play. 

Lovely is the mellow twilight, 
Flooding hill, and vale, and dell ; 

While among the wild green valleys 
Can be heard the tinkling bell 



roEMS. 31 

Of the sheep upon the hill-side, 

And the merry brooklet's trill ; 
While the quiet air of evening 

Resounds with cry of " Whip-poor-will." 

The woods are clothed with summer's green, 
And fringed with wild-flowers bright ; 

For here the children love to play. 
By day's departing light. 

Each one is happy, gay, and glad, 

As twilight's hour draws on ; 
With hasty steps they leave the hill. 

For now the day is done. 



32 POEMS. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A CHH^D. 



Sleep on, sweet cherub ; take thy rest ; 
Fold thy hands across thy breast ; 
Thou art gone — yes, gone forever, — 
To that blest home beyond the river. 

Thou wilt wander no more o'er meadow or lea ; 
Thou wilt never again laugh so merrily ; 
Thou wilt no more chase the pretty dove ; 
Here, never more return my love. 

•But why should I murmur, since the same dark lot 
Falls on the rich man's dwelling and poor man's cot ? 
The lovely ones, in all their pride. 
Must soon lie together, side by side. 

But yet the scalding tear will start ; 
As memory o'er the past doth stray, 
I fain would stay the fatal dart. 
As I recall thy winning way. 

But sleep, sleep on, sweet cherub, sleep ; 
I'll strive no more to mourn or weep ; 
I feel thy spirit form is near, 
Bidding my heart be of good cheer. 



POEMS. 33 



WAITING, 



An old man sat beneath a tree ; 

His heavy locks were straying 
Among the breezes free and wild, 

That sweetly round were playing. 

He raised his withered, aged hands 

Towards the heavens fair. 
And from those lips, so wan and thin, 

Went forth a fervent prayer. 

" What makes you look so sad, grandpa?" 
Cried a sunny, fair-haired child. 
She had left her careless, happy play. 
And checked her laughter wild. 

" My child ! " the aged man replied, 
" I feel my days on earth are few ; 
This withered form will ere long be 
Resting 'neath the evening's dew." 

" Why, dearest grandpa ! " cried the child, 
" You surely love your little girl ; 
3 



34 POEMS. 

And if yon leave this earthly home, 
Pray, who will stroke this pretty curl? 

" Mamma, you know, has gone away, 
And little sister, too ; 
And now, if grandpa leaves me here, 
What will poor Bella do?" 

*' I am Availing, little Bella," 

Said that old man bent and white, 

*' For the summons that shall waft me 
To a land that's ever bright. 

" I shall meet your mother, sister, 
In our happy home above, 
And together will sing praises 
To the God of truth and love." 

Sadly gazed that little Bella 

On the grandsire whom she clasped. 

As he hushed her childish heart sobs : 
He Avas fading ! fading ! fast. 

But one day, beneath the yew tree, 
Where the buttercups do peep. 

In the twilight's long gray hour, 
Bella and grantlpa fell asleep. 



POEMS. 35 



THE DYING VOLUNTEEPw 



Kiss me once more, dear motlier, 
Ere the light of day has fled ; 

When this brave young form is cold, 
And you gaze upon me dead. 

I have fallen for my country, — 
'Tis to her I give my life, — 

For the Southern chain did gall us, 
And brought on this deadly strife. 

Hark ! upon the distant hill-side 

Methinks I hear the cannon's sound ! 

And I see the dark red life-stream 
Trickling slowly to the gi'ound. 

Hark ! I hear the captains shouting 
" Onward ! onward ! men so true ; " 

And now along the steeps tlicy're rushing 
Bravely on — those " boys in blue." 

Mother, I see them swing their caps, 
As they meet the rebel hordes ; 



36 POEMS. 

And I see the gleaming metal 

Of their tried and trusty swords. 

But I am lying here, mother, 

Low upon my dying bed ; 
And the sun is sinking slowly — 

Mother, dearest ! hold my head. 

Press me to your bosom nearer, 
Plold me in your arms so tiglit, 

Kiss me once more, my mother, dear, 
Bid your volunteer good night. 

If my comrades ask you, mother. 
For the soldier true and tried, 

Tell them, that in your arms, mother, 
He breathed his last and died. 

Toll them, mother, on to victory ; 

Tell them, free their much-loved land ; 
Tell them, I'll be waiting lor them, 

'Mong the glorious, happy band. 

Kiss me, mother ; I am going ! 

I know that Jesus now is near. 
And gently, as the sun was setting, 

Died the brave young volunteer. 



POEMS. 37 



THE WATCHER BY THE SEA 



The mellow sun was shedding 

His rays o'er ocean wild, 
And clouds of gold and purple 

Called to the breezes mild. 

Down by the trees in the valley 

Sounded a footstep light ; 
And a song Avas floating sadly 

From lips all pale and white. 

Down by the waving willows 

Glided a gentle girl ; 
Her eyes were beaming wildly 

From under her dark brown curl. 

She stole to the deep dark inlet, 
And bent, with folded hands. 
Where the great white waves were beating 
■ Upon the shining sands. 



38 POEMS. 

She stood', with lips half parted, 

Gazing out upon the sea, 
As if listening for a friendly call 

From one far o'er the lea. 

I wondered why the child was there, 
And why she looked so sad ; — 

Had she no friend, no loving friend. 
To make her young heart glad? 

The tears ran down her cold wet cheeks, 
Her pale lips quivered too ; 

I longed to ask her childish name, 
And gaze in those eyes of blue. 

But something seemed to hold me back. 
And press my heart-strings tight ; 

And when I turned to look again, 
She had vanished from my sight. 

I never yet have learned her name. 
Or Avhy she wandered there. 

Or why she stood, with folded hands, 
As though she breathed a prayer. 



POEMS. 39 

I do not know what made her weep, 

Her bhie eyes fill with tears, 
Or what sad sorrow pressed her heart, — 

Such sorrow for young years. 

I only know she was alone, — 

A watcher by the sea ; 
And how she listened for some voice 

To echo o'er the lea. 

But in my prayer I'll ask for this : 

That God her feet may guide ; 
That she may find a resting-place 

Beyond life's surging tide. 

And still I seem to see, to-night, 

As I gaze far o'er the lea, 
The tearful eyes and quivering lips 

Of the " Watcher by the Sea." 



40 POEMS. 



THE MOTHER'S BEREAVEMENT. 



My child, how can I give thee up? 
How can I drink this bitter cup ? 
In thee I've centred all my joy — 
My darling, precious, only boy. 

How can I ever, ever kneel, 
And pray for strength to say, and feel, 
"Thy will, not mine, O Lord, be done, — 
Thou only hast recalled thine own." 

But I will not murmur, though of him bereft ; 
I thank thee, my Father, for those thou hast left. 
Though parted below, unite us above, 
To praise thee, and bless thee, and rejoice in thy love. 



POEMS. 41 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



Alone by the open window she stands, 
And folds ou the sill her pale white hands ; 
She bows her head, so silent and low, 
And lifts her eye with a tearful glow. 

She raises her glance to the setting sun. 
And thinks of her young life, just begun ; 
She thinks of the one who vowed to love, 
But who at her side has ceased to rove. 

She thinks of her childhood's happy hour, 
"When the pleasant bell, in yon church tower, 
Pealed forth sweet chimes, and all were glad : 
But now her heart is sad, — yes, very sad. 

She folds on her breast her snowy hands. 
And in her eye the tear-drop stands. 
She heeds them not ! her heart is broken ! 
For she, alas I is now forsaken. 



42 POEMS. 

There was a time — though long ago — 
When she had thought he loved her so ; 
That love, ah ! it has since grown cold, — 
That loving heart has now grown old. 

There wJis a time — but, O ! 'tis past, 
When in his arms he fondly clasped 
Her gentle, slender, girlish form. 
And vowed to shield it from all storm. 

What careless words are often told ! 
What unkind acts the past enfold ! 
What tearful sights, what broken hearts ! 
E*en from their memory we often smart. 

She stands, and leans on the window-pane 
Her aching head, till each blue vein 
Seems ready to burst. Can this be true ? 
O, God ! our Father ! what shall she do? 

Hark, to a step ! She shuddered and pressed 
Her trembling child to her throbbing breast ; 
But now all is past ! her trials o'er. 
That gentle heart will grieve no more. 



POEMS. 43 



THE LITTLE BOOTS 



Only two little boots by the fire so bright, 
Only two little stockings to mead to-night ; 
The one who owns them is snug in bed, 
Where the moonbeams dance on his curly head. 

Tliese little boots gave me trouble to-day. 
Bringing in mud from out-door play ; 
Scattering pebbles over the floor, 
Tracking dirt in at the great hall door. 

These little boots gave me sorrow to-day. 
Straying from mother's sight away ; 
Climbing trees, and wading streams. 
Chasing shadows and sunny beams. 

These little stockings, so worn and gray. 
Have these tiny treasures caused trouble to-day ? 
Ah ! indeed they have, in racing about. 
In joining plays and merry shout. 

Alas ! I have had trouble to-day. 

And yet would I give these treasures away? 



44 POEMS. 

Would I have the places empty to-night 
Of the little boots with toes so bright? 

Ah me ! my very heart will break 
If away from my sight these boots you take ; 
My home would be dreary, ray young heart sad, 
And there would be nothing to make me glad. 

So there's only two little boots so bright, 
Only two little stockings to mend to-night, 
Only one little flower, so feeble and slight 
Only one to smile with so silver a light. 

There was a time when four were there. 
When four little faces peeped over my chair ; 
Four pairs of boots, so shiny and bright. 
And four pairs of stockings, so pure and white, 

Hung near the fire, and chimney tall ; 
For the feet that wore them were dimpled and small. 
But ray children are gone, their spirits have fled. 
And they are sleeping undisturbed with the dead. 

I sadly miss those three loved ones 

That are resting to-night in their silent tombs ; 

I miss their shouts and merry play, 

For three little forms are not here to-day. 



POEMS. 45 



TO MATTIE. 



Dear Friend: — 

You ask a tribute from my pen — 

A gift which God alone imparts — 
To improve the miud, and also gain 
The secret treasures of our hearts. 

I write these lines at thy request ; 

Free may they be from every stain : 
If God, our Maker, think it best, 

May you and I soon meet again. 

I've watched the sun at evening 

Fade in the glowing west. 
Painting with rainbow hues the clouds, 

Then, gently sinking, like a babe to rest. 

I've watched the stars, as, one by one, 
They take the place of that bright orb ; 

And think, although so wondrous they, 
That we God's highest thoughts absorb. 



46 POEMS. 

Mattie ! to these I liken you, — 

A sun ! a star ! in heaven ; 
Take thou of life a lofty view, 

And ne'er from Virtue's path be driven. 

May thy tasks be light and easy. 
May thy path be bright and free ; 

May thy spirit ne'er grow weary, 
Ne'er provoke inconstancy. 

Mattie, these lines which now I write. 
Are meant as wishes unto thee ; 

And when, perchance, they meet your eye, 
Do thou, dear friend, remember me. 



POEMS. 47 



DRIFTING ONWARD. 



Drifting onward, down the tide, 
The tide which all must stem, 

Our vessel's name tlie " Ship of Life," 
And Christ is at the helm. 

Drifting onward, down in sin, 

Weary souls around us ; 
But still we'll strive till all is o'er, 

And angel-hands have crowned us. 

This life's a stormy sea at best ; 

And oft we wear an aching heart. 
When called to see sad sorrow's hour. 

And with some loved one dear to part. 

Drifting onward, down life's ocean, . 

Full of care and troubled ill ; 
But still we'll strive, and upward rise, 

Towards the '' Heavenly Hill." 

Then, in celestial garments, 

Within His fold we'll rest ; 
No more drifting onward, 

But safe, forever blest. 



48 POEMS. 



LITLLE FREDDIE 



Softly wave the drooping trees 

O'er the silent sleeping dead ; 
And the willows and the daises 

Gently murmur o'er their head. 

High above the dim old forest, 

Rise the tombstones white and fair ; 

'Graved with simple heartfelt tributes 
To the loved ones lying there. 

'Neath the green and pleasant grass spot, 
'Neath the daises briglit and blue, 

Lies our " cherished little blossom ; " 
" Freddie " was the name he knew. 

Only a short time was he spared. 

To nestle in a parent's love ; 
Just when the heartstrings had grown strong 

God called our little boy above. 



POEMS. 49 

And we gave him up with bitter pangs, 

To the fell destroyer Death, 
At whose decree e'en Nature shrinks, 

And withers at his chilling breath. 

With bitter hearts we robed his bed, 

And laid him down to rest. 
With bright flowers strew'd about him, 

For God said, " It is best." 

We bore him to the " village-yard," 

With slow and measured tread ; 
Then turned away with tearful eyes, 

And left him with the dead. 

We entered our silent chamber, 

We gazed on the empty* chair ; 
We looked in the little cradle, — 

But our " Freddie " was not there : 

For far beyond all earth's alarms,- 

Where flowers eternal bloom. 
The eye of faith beholds him now 

Arisen from the tomb. 
4 



50 POEMS 



OUR CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 



In a sly little nook, just over the way, 

A schoolhouse cosily stands, 
With trees so green, so leafy and tall. 

And planted by our hands ; 

'Tis here we hold our meetings dear, 

* 
In this quiet little place ; 

'Tis here we meet, and always greet 

Our pastor's happy face. 

Our little church was always full ; 

To all the seafs were free ; 
But where they now do keep themselves 

Is quite unknown to me. 
There's brother B., so kind and good. 

Has left our place so small. 
And goes " up street" to hear the Word, 

Within our " beck and call." 



POEMS. 51 

He marches by with air so grand, 

Followed by wife so true, ♦ 
While all the neighbors stand, and gaze. 

And whisper, " There's for you ! " 
But " brother B.," a man of sense, 

Cares not for scoffs or frowns ; 
He marches on, with head up straight. 

Nor thinks of those who'd tread him down. 



Next " brother R.,'* a large-souled man. 

With purse and house all ready 
To welcome the rich, and grand, and proud, 

As Avell as the poor and needy : 
Within our church, so small and neat. 

His laughing face is always seen ; 
He rarely or never stays at home ; 

He's ripening for heaven, I ween. 

Our little church, that used to be 

The scenes of quiet life,- 
Has older grown, and now has scenes 

Of discontent and strife. 



52 POEMS. 

The seed was sown on stony ground, 
The hope of Christians was in vain, 

For some have left, and e'en declare 
They won't come back again. 

But birds in their little nests agree, 

And 'tis a shameful sight, 
When those of one community 

Fall out, and chide, and fight. 
So, fellow-citizens, change your mind, 

And backward come, I pray ; 
Let every seat in the house be full, 

Nor heed what people say. 



POEMS. 53 



ON THE DEATH OF ALICE AND FREDDIE. 



I HAVE laid away their playthings 

They will never use again, — 
Their little toys and dresses, 

So pretty, yet so plain. 

And our hearts are almost broken 
With the woe we cannot share, 

For their empty crib and clothing 
Are aU that's left us here. 

Alice was our gentle one, — 
A thoughtful, meek-eyed child, 

So full of love and tenderness, 
So pure and free from guile.. 

Freddie was our noble one, — 

Our darling, lovely boy ; 
His lips were always wreathed with smiles. 

His heart seemed full of joy. 



54 POEMS. 

Our two most precious loved ones — 
The light and joy of home — 

Have gone to dwell with angels, 
And left us sad and lone. 

But they have only gone before us, 
While we are toiling on ; 

Their little hands still beckon us 
To our loving Father's home. 

Nearer the great white throne. 
Nearer the tree of life, 

Nearer the golden gates 

Which shut out pain and strife. 

Nearer the jasper sea. 

Where the many angels dwell. 

There Alice and Freddie await us, 
Their love and joy to tell. 

And sweet will be the meeting. 
When on that blissful shore. 

By angel bands attended, 
We meet to part no more. 



POEMS. 55 



THE HOUSEHOLD TREASURE. 



I HAD a friend, a joyous friend, 
Whose heart was pure and free ; 

Whose voice was light and gay in song, 
As birds on yonder tree. 

She called this lowly earth her home ; 

But 'twas not thus, I ween : 
We could not see the angel hosts, 

Nor catch the heavenly beam 

That on her inner temple shone, 

Reflecting looks of faith. 
Daily her lips would utter praise. 

And her heart express belief. 

But one day a shadow flitted 

O'er this home, so loved and dear ; 

And we missed this household treasure ■ 
Vacant was a well-known chair. 



56 POEMS. 

We wandered in her garden, 

"We plucked her choicest flowers, 

And wove them in a sunny wreath 
To deck her cherished bowers. 

We roved the woods of sombre gray, 
In search of that loved form ; 

But, alas ! forever from our side 
Our joyous friend was gone. 

Far down the garden is a grave, 
Where dark green pine-trees moan, 

And bright-leaved ivy twines around — 
" Our Addie" on the stone. 

For far away in ether blue, 
Resounds the voice we love ; 

And sweet the tones, now soft, now loud, 
" I'm happy here above." 



POEMS. 57 



THE UNSEEN LAND. 



I WOULD mine eyes could pierce that land 
Where flowers immortal bloom ; 

Beyond the hastening age of time, 
Beyond the dreadful tomb. 

They tell me *tis a country fair, 
With streets all paved with gold ; 

And happy angels clothed in white, 
Its wonders new behold. 

They tell me 'tis a land of light, 

A land of endless day ; 
But when I wish to seek the realm, 

Lo ! it is far away. 

The entrance to this blissful land 
Is through the gate of Death ; 

His messenger takes us by our hand, 
And chills us with his breath. 

And then our day is turned to night ; 
Our dream of life is o'er : 



68 POEMS. 

And by the " boatman," pale and old, 
We reach that unseen shore. 

I would mine earthly eyes could see 
The beauties of that place ; 

The crystal river flowing clear, 
Past the temple of God's grace. 

But it is ordered otherwise ; 

And by His hand alone 
Can we behold this dazzling place, 

Or sit beside His throne. 

" I am the Way, the Truth, the Life : 
For you I suffered death ; 

For you I wore the thorny crown. 
And yielded up my breath." 

Thus he stands, with eyes uplifted, 
Pleading in low tones of love. 

Proffering to us heavenly blessings, 
Titles to his home above. 

Let us heed his kind entreaties ; 

Let us lay our burdens down ; 
For Christ is waiting to receive us, 

Holding forth a starry crown. 



POEMS. 59 



OVER THE RIVER. 



Softly, then, as the setting sun * 

Fades from earth when day is done, 

And leaves a raiment of sunny gold 

Upon the hills, so gray and cold. 

Faded Willie ! our little boy. 

With his golden curls and smile of joy ! 

His free, glad voice is hushed forever. 

And he has crossed beyond the river. 

And then the summons came again. 

And filled our hearts with woe and pain : 

It called for Effie ! our baby girl. 

With her eyes of blue, and soft brown curl, 

And we yielded her up to the " boatman old,' 

Who stood in his place by the river cold. 

He crossed with her to the farther side. 

Beyond the waves and the dashing tide ; 

And we stood and gazed, but all in vain, 

We could not call her back again ; 



60 POEMS. 

She had joined our Willie oujhe unseen shore, 
And we must watch and sigh no more. 
And yet again our home was robbed, 
And two other darlings went to God. 
Over the river, the deep, dark river, 
I see the streets which their feet have trod. 

And once again, in the cold, dark night, 

When all was still, and the fire-light 

Danced o'er our lonely room. 

Two angels entered, and sat them down. 

And the light from their wings dispelled the gloom. 

We asked them whither and whence they came, 

And also asked their angel name. 

They answered, — and such a heavenly smile 

Played o'er their features all the while, — 

" Our angel names we cannot tell." 

And their voices sounded like a silver bell. 

Ringing o'er the deep. 

Then one of them asked, in so flute-like a voice 

That it made my breaking heart rejoice, 

'^ O mother, do you not know me now? 

Or is it the crown upon my brow 

That blinds your sight ? " 



POEMS. 61 

I Started np in wild surprise ; 

My precious child was before my eyes ! 

Far happier now he seemed to be, 

Than earthly children whom I see. 

The other was my baby girl, 

With her eyes of blue, and soft, brown curl. 

They are happy now in their home of light, 

Their crowns of gold, and their robes of white ; 

Over the river, the deep, dark river, 

They have passed away from mortals' sight. 



62 POEMS. 



TO CARRIE 



Sweet friend, thy pensive face I see 
In all my lonely wanderings ; 

And oft I sigh for thy loved voice, 
As weary bird in prison sings. 

I have met and loved thee dearly. 
And my heart beats with delight, 

As I listen in the twilight 

For thy cheerful laugh so bright. 

In the summer's glad, gay sounding, 
*Mong the woods so tall and drear, 

I am often dreaming, loved one. 
Often wishing you were here. 

"We are young, and life has charms ; 

And we know not when they'll fade ; 
We are young, and seldom ponder 

When our grave-bed may be made. 



POEMS. , 63 

We have aims in life, and dreaming, 

Wander listless down the tide. 
Towards Eternity's dark ocean, 

Where the chasm 's deep and wide. 

We may part, and part forever. 

On this dreary, trackless earth, 
Where our labors will be over. 

And bright flowers have their birth ; 

Yet above, in yon pure heaven. 

If I first may meet the throng, 
I will listen for thy loved voice, 

Joining in the cherubs' song. 

If I first may enter heaven, 

First be freed from earth and sin, 

I will watch the golden portal. 
Meet you, at your entering in. 



64 POEMS. 



THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. 



The wide, v/ide world is beautiful, 
And decked with bright-luied flowers ; 

And happy songs of plumagcd birds 
Are echoed 'mong its bowers. 

But still its joyous, gay, glad tone, 

Sad, aching hearts conceal ; 
And often wounds are festering, 

Which Time's touch ne'er can heal. 

The tears which sad and mournful fall. 

Are often flowing on, 
'Mid natures gay, and pleasant strain, 

And happy, flattering tongue. 

The wide, wide world may still move on. 

Decked in her richest glow ; 
But there are many throbbing breasts, 

More than we weak ones know. 



POEMS. 65 

A careless tone, a scornful laugh, 

May fill the eye's deep cup ; 
And often words so harshly said 

Will swell the bosom up. 

Many hearts are often broken, 

Many words the lips do bring, 
While the wide, Mdde world is happy, 

And gay songs the birds do sing. 

Weary mortals, look up yonder ; 

Do not droop to earth so low ; 
Ye are " hand in hand with angels," 

Nearer than ye weak ones know. 
5 



66 POEMS. 



CHILDHOOD DAYS. 



Childhood days, how quick they vanish ! 

How soon their simple joys are fled ! 
And the friends which then we roamed with 

All are numbered with the dead. 

How we rambled in the orchard, 
Plucking fruit, so red and fair ; 

Roaming in the starry meadows, 
Weaving chaplets for our hair ; 

Playing bo-peep 'mong the roses ; 

Togsing daisies to and fro ; 
Bending down the willow branches ! 

Childhood days ! I love them so ! 

But, alas ! they all have vanished ; 

Like old friends, they all have fled ; 
And my happy childhood visions. 

They are numbered with the dead ! 



POEMS. 67 

And I sit and watch the children 

Busy at their merry play ; 
But, alas ! my happy childhood, 

Will it ne'er return? 0, say. 

Never more, O happy childhood ! 

Never more wilt thou be mine ; 
But no joys that since have blessed me 

Find in my heart so deep a shrine. 



68 POEMS. 



MAUD LEE 



I GAZE on thy picture to-night, Maud Lee, 

In thy young and innocent joy. 
And my heart beats fast as I gaze, Maud Lee, 

But it beats without alloy. 
Fair and lovely is thy face, Maud Lee, 

Fair and lovely to-night ; 
Smooth and red is the blush, Maud Lee, 

That flits, o'er thy cheek so bright. 

Soft are thy beautiful curls of brown, 

That droop on thy shoulders low, 
And I seem to hear to-night, Maud Lee, 

Thy lisping words in the sunset's glow. 
Once I loved thy fair face, Maud Lee, 

And basked in thy cheerful smiles, 
And listened with quick and fond delight, 

And laughed at thy maiden wiles. 

I offered thee once this noble heart, 
And sued for thy fair hand, 



POEMS. 69 

And asked you to be the poet's bride, 

The happiest one in the land ; 
You scorned my offer, proud Maud Lee, 

You scorned this faithful heart, 
And vowed in voice, both soft and low, 

That you with me would part. 

I left my poet's home, Maud Lee, 

And won for myself a name ; 
I travelled far o'er land and sea, 

In search of earthly fame. 
You then became a rich man's bride, 

And revelled in silver and gold ; 
I sighed from my heart when I heard thy fate, 

For my love was the same as of old. 

You sat at a rich and well-decked board ; 

You led the dance Avith glee ; 
You then were called the rich man's bride, 

But I read at once thy misery. 
And I gaze on thy picture to-night, Maud Lee, 

As I sit by my window alone, 
And I watch in vain for thy curls of brown. 

List in vain for thy merry tone. 



70 POEMS. 

But thou hast made thy choice, Maud Lee, 

Between the palace and cot. 
And thy gentle, graceful, girlish form 

Is linked with every thought. 
But you made your choice that day, Maud Lee, 

In thy young and careless joy. 
And I gaze on thy face to-night, Maud Lee, 

But I gaze without alloy. 



POEMS, 71 



THERE IS NO DEATH. 



There is no death ! 'Tis but a peaceful sleep, 
Awaking in the presence of our God, 

Crossing fields of bright Elysian, 
By white-winged angels trod. 

There is no death ! It is but waking 

In the happy snow-white dress, 
Golden harps forever fingering. 

In the mansions of the blest. 

Weeping friends below are gathered 

Round the silent sleeping dead. 
Missing sadly happy voices, 

And the light and well-known tread. 

"Weeping, out of sore affliction. 

For a little form so dear, 
And the marble halls are vacant, 

Vacant is the little chair. 



72 POEMS. 

Costly toys around lie scattered ; 

Simple dresses, small and white ; 
But the little one that wore them 

Now hath vanished from their sight. 

Soft the curtains cover over 
Downy pillows pure and fair, 

And upon the choicest tablet 
Lies a curl of golden hair. 

Yet there is no death ! It is but waking 

In the likeness of our God, 
While the body may be resting 

Silent 'neath the grass-green sod. 

There is no death ! It is but singing 
Angel praises sweet and clear, 

And on thrones of dazzling whiteness 
Sit and sing forever there. 

There is no death ! 'Tis but transition. 
Where angel praises, sweet and clear, 

Ring round thrones of dazzling brightness, 
From sweet lips of Seraph choir. 



POEMS. 73 



THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 



In the lonely hour of midnight, 

AVhen the stars have sunk to rest, 
And the lovely flowers are sleeping 

Silent on their mother's breast, 
When the lonely hour of midnight 

Peals upon my startled ear. 
Then the songs of the departed — 

Heavenly songs — I often hear 

Enter at my window casement, 

And the room is filled w^ith light ; 
Flitting forms and dusky phantoms 

Visit me in lone midnight ; 
Soft brown hair, and waving garments, 

Kisses warm are on my cheek ; 
And I sit, and softly listen, 

Till I almost hear them speak. 

One there comes with heavenly lustre 
Shining in her mild, dark eye. 



74 POEMS. 

Twines her hands about my forehead, 
And I seem to hear her sigh ; 

Then, with finger pointing upward, 
Beckons me, and whispers low, 

Till I bow my head in anguish, 

And pray for strength to bear the blow. 

Then there softly steals another, 

Clad in spotless virgin white, 
Whispers low the name of " Father," 

In the lonely hour of night ; 
Loving arms are raised in triumph, 

Dark eyes beam with silent love. 
Till again I seem to fold her 

In my arms — my precious dove. 

Now two boyish forms do enter ; 

One hangs 'bout me, on my chair, 
While the other softly glances 

Toward the angels, waiting there. 
In each hand they bear a shining 

Golden harp and sweet-toned lyre, 
Strung Avith gems and sparkling crystals — 

Angel harps for all the choir. 



POEMS. 75 

Then, with kisses pure and mild, 

Do these forms, so full of light, 
Vanish 'neath my window casement, 

In the solemn hour of night ; 
And, starting from my chair, I wake, 

And listen for that heavenly tone ; 
But, alas ! they all have left me 

In the midnight hour alone. 



76 POEMS. 



ONE FEIEND 



O COULD we but in sorrow find 
One friend of sympathizing mind, 
We'd love the others just the same, 
And listen for their Avell-known name. 
But in the hours of sorest grief, 
In this dear friend we'd find relief, 
And go to her in deepest woe. 
And whisper then in words so low, 
The tender sorrow of the mind. 
Confide it to this friend so kind. 
And, soft as bells for vespers' peal, 
She'd cheer our hearts, our troubles heal. 
We'd cling to her dear loving breast, 
And think of all, we loved her best, 
Because in sorrow we should find 
A sweet and sympathizing mind. 



POEMS. 77 



LINES TO A BELOVED FRIEND 



Sister, with thy mild blue eye, 

Thy forehead fiiir, and ruby cheek, 
Come hither, to my spirit's side, 

And listen while I speak. 
You and I were young together, 

And we loved so tenderly ; 
You and I have played together, — 

Ah ! so gay and happily. 
I am often thinking of thee, — 

How we wandered side by side ; 
But, alas ! Time's happy hours 

Roll away with rapid tide. 
I have shared thy childhood visions, 

I have shared thy joy and pain, 
I have loved and blessed thy presence ; 

May I meet with thee again. 
Dearest sister, wilt thou always 

Keep my memory pure and free ; 
And if far from thee I wander, 

Wilt thou still remember me ? 



78 POEMS 



THE CURL OF HAIR. 



'Tis a little curl of dark-brown hair, 

Tied with a ribbon white, 
Which makes my heartstrings throb and beat. 

And tears bedim my sight. 

Three years ago, — I mark it well, — 

We stood in the arbor old, 
And there I pressed her dimpled hand. 

And there my love I told. 

I rehearsed to her my dreams of fame, 

I told my wishes gay. 
And asked of her a token dear, 

To carry far away. 

She smiled ; her eyes were filled with tears, 

And from her brow so bright 
She took this curl of dark brown hair. 

And tied with ribbon white. 



POEMS. 79 

Three years have slowly passed away, 

And I wander still alone ; 
No hope beams on my weary soul, 

No beacon lights my home. 

I found my heart's best treasure false ; 

Her love had passed away, 
As shadows vanish from the hills 

Just at the close of day. 

The smile that used to deck her face 

Has changed to sober pride ; 
And as she walks in the gloaming old, 

A stranger 's by her side. 

I wonder much she could forget 

Her plighted love to me. 
And how my face would beam with smiles 

At her merry voice of glee. 

But I have proved the maiden false : 

Another calls her wife ; 
Another shields her from the ills 

That strew the path of life. 



80 POEMS. 

Ah ! lovely curl of dark-brown hue, 
How fast my tear-drops fall, ' 

How fast my heartstrings beat and throb 
As I these scenes recall ! 

Then vanish from my painful sight, 

Thou vision of face so fair ; 
For ye bring to my bosom a chilling blight, 

Thou curl of dark-brown hair. 



POEMS. 81 



LADY EVELYN'S WOOING. 



On the border of the forest, 
Where the bright-hued daisies rest, 
Stands a little cottage ueat, 
Covered o'er with flowers sweet. 

Creeping vines run o'er the roof, 
Nestling there without reproof ; 
But the one inside the wall 
Is the fairest flower of all. 

Lady Evelyn, blithe and gay, 
Singing sweetly all the day. 
Is an orphan ; but her face 
Brings sunshine to that quiet place. 

* * * * 

Her hair is like rippling threads of gold, 
And her maiden charms each day unfold ; 
Her hands are brown, yet fair to me. 
Sweet Lady Evelyn, flower of the sea. 
6 



82 POEMS. 

One day in summer's golden hour, 
When all that 's gladsome feels her power, 
A young man passed along that way, 
Twirling a rose, bright crimson and gay. 

He saw sweet Evelyn across the stile. 
Plying her needle all the while ; 
He ventured near, and doffed his hat. 
And soon commenced a friendly chat. 

*' Young maiden, why spend thine hours here. 
When the songs of birds are blithe and clear ? 
Your tripping feet should be dancing still 
Over the brow of yonder hill." 

Sweet Evelyn looked up with roguish smile, 
Plying her needle all the while, — 
*' I dearly love to stay," she said, 
"Where sunbeams are glancing overhead. 

" The forest is warm and gay, I see, 
But its bright-hued leaves are dull to me ; 
My home is here, and here I trill 
My plaintive song, like the whippoorwill." 



POEMS. 83 

" Lady, sing one of thy songs," he cried, 
" A song about fond hopes that died ; 
I would love to have you sing to me 
Those songs that echo o'er the lea." 

Sweet Evelyn lifted her lovely head : 
" I cannot sing to a stranger," she said ; 
" My songs are mournful, tearful, and sad ; 
They would not make thy kind heart glad." 

The stranger gazed on her blushing cheek, 
That brow so lovely, noble, and meek ; 
Then whispered adieu, and vanished away, 
While sunbeams still danced in careless play. 

Yet still the days passed on ; then came 
The howling winds, and sleet, and rain ; 
The summer faded, and autumn drew near, 
While dropping nuts young hearts did cheer. 

*' Fair Evelyn " no longer sits at the stile. 
Plying her needle all the while ; 
But her brbwn eyes wander with restless glance 
To the stile where her gladsome feet did dance. 



84 POEMS. 

She missed the stranger's presence dear, 
And his kindly-whispered words of clieer ; 
She missed the smiles that mantled his cheek, 
And that noble brow, so calm and meek. 

At last, one day, when all was still, 

And nought was heard save the murmuring rill, 

The stranger came across the moor. 

And gently knocked at her lowly door. 

Then Evelyn's cheek grew sparkling and bright. 
And her eyes beamed again with happy delight ; 
She welcomed the stranger, now doubly dear, 
With a ringing laugh and voice so clear. 

" I have come, sweet Evelyn," the young man cried, 
" To ask you to be my cherished bride, — 
To ask you to choose, for your future lot, 
My palace home, or this humble cot. 

" I will bring to you riches o'er land and sea, 
If you will but pledge your faith to me ; 
I will bring to you raiment, costly and rare. 
And pearls to twine 'mid your golden hair." 



POEMS. 85 

Sweet Evelyn bowed her lovely head. 
" I pledge myself to yon," she said, 
" To be your true and lovmg wife 
Till death divide this earthly life." 

He fondly kissed her dewy cheek, 
And uttered words both sweet and meek ; 
Then kneeling low on bended knee, 
He pledged eternal constancy. 

The months passed on ; the summer came 
Mingled with sunshine and with rain. 
The cheek of Evelyn now grew thin ; 
But still she cherished love for him. 

The years rolled on, and o'er the moor 
She watched for him who 'd return no more ; 
The old moss cottage grew worn and gray, 
While sunbeams danced in joyous play. 

The villagers listed in vain for the song. 
Borne on the air of evening along ; 
For Evelyn now was pale and weak. 
And gone were the roses from her cheek. 



86 POEMS. 

Years rolled on years ; and sadly now 
The green sod covers sweet Evelyn's brow ; 
The little cottage is empty and gray ; 
Type of things earthly — passing away. 

The children pass by, with reverent tread, 
The graves of the quiet, sleeping dead ; 
But woe to the stranger's painful dart, 
"Which pierced and broke sweet Evelyn's heart. 



POEMS. 87 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 



It was a balmy clay in June, 

And the lovely birds were singing, 

And the very air was humming notes 
That village bells were rinijino-. 

Forth I wandered to the willow, 
Sat me down upon the green, 

"Watched the sunshine gladly dancing- 
Overhead, with gladsome beam. 

I had been for years a wanderer, 
Roaming far in distant lands ; 

And my weary form was bending ; 
Time on me had laid his hands. 

All at once I heard a prattling 
Of some little voices sweet. 

And my eyes with light were beaming 
I could hear my heartstrings beat. 



88 POEMS. 

Nearer came that laughing band, 
Bounding forth in merry glee ; 

But soon they spied my aged form, 
And curious looks they bent on me. 

Eagerly I scanned the group, 

To see if one was there 
Whose agile form I once had loved, 

And praised her dark brown hair. 

But their faces all were strange, 
And I turned away to weep ; 

While the sunbeams sank to rest, 
And all Nature fell' asleep. 

Forth I wandered to the homestead, 
Stood beside the moss-grown well ; 

But the strange despair that filled me 
Words like these can never tell. 

Gone were parents, brothers, sisters ; 

I of all was left alone ; 
And a sound from moving tree-tops 

Seemed to echo back — Alone. 



POEMS. 89 



Sick at heart I wandered sadly 
To the graveyard cold and Avhite, 

And my eyes with tears were fillin 
On my heart there seemed a blight 



'6 ' 



And I called aloud to Silence, 

" Tell me, tell me, where are they 

That are absent from the hearth-stone, ' 
That are absent from their play ? 

" Answer, Silence ! thou, O mortal, 

Tell thy answer unto me." 
And they murmured sadly, strangely, 

" Mounds in the graveyard tell it to thee." 

Alas ! alas ! 'twas but too true, — 
They were sleeping in the grave ; 

Now the willow and the daisy 

Gently o'er their loved heads wave. 

And I bowed my head in sorrow, 
As my steps I homeward bent ; 

For life's dark changes come to all ; 
Our earthly days are only lent. 



90 POEMS. 



AN OLD MAN'S REVEEIE. 



" I AM old to-day," sighed a weary man, 

Whose race had nearly run ; 
" I am old to-day — past seventy-three ; 

My life is almost done. 
I call to mind my boyhood days, 

When I wandered by the stream, 
And sprang with footsteps light and fleet. 

To greet the morn's first beam. 

" I think, too, of my childhood days. 

The merry games we played. 
How we angled in the meadow brook 

Close by the willow's shade ; 
I remember, too, a gentle child — 

A playmate, kind and true ; 
I seem again to see her form, 

And her dancing eyes of blue. 

"But that gay and happy one 
Is lying 'neath the sod ; 



POEMS. 91. 

Her spirit early plumed its flight 

To find its rest with God. 
But this life is all transition, 

And I've left my childish play, 
And my hair is streaked with silver, 

For I'm old ! I'm old to-day." 

Thus the old man murmured softly, 

In a voice both low and deep, 
And listening to the moaning willows. 

He gently, calmly, fell asleep. 
And once more he was a child. 

Like the happy one of yore, 
Still dancing on the village green, 

Where oft he'd danced before. 

His playmates' shouts rang sharp and clear, 

But his the loudest seemed ; 
They roamed again the meadow brook^ 

Near where the sunlight gleamed. 
A form seemed walking close beside, 

A voice sppke low and sweet. 
And holding still a little hand. 

Came the pattering little feet. 



92 POEMS. 

Full well he knew that darling child, 

That face so wondrous fair ; 
And once again he gathered flowers, 

And twined them in her hair ; 
Once more he chased life's cares away. 

And laughed in childish glee ; 
Once more the evening prayer was lisped 

Beside a mother's knee. 

But now the happy scene has changed, 

Gray shadows are stealing b'er. 
And the little form has vanished — 

Her smiles will beam no more. 
With listless step he wanders forth 

To a little grave so dear, 
And as he kneels down gently by it, 

Wipes away the blinding tear. 

He sees his parents fade away. 

Their places vacant by the hearth ; 
His sisters, brothers, all are gone — 
Hushed the songs of joy and mirth. 
Tlie sunlight glimmers through the trees, 
And falls across the floor, 



POEMS. 93 

And breath of early spring-flowers 
"Wafts through the open door. 

The old man starts — awakes — and lo, 

Behold, 'tis all a dream ! 
And the sun is softly shining on, 

With gladsome, happy beam. 
The aged hand is lifted up. 

The breezes softly play, 
And he whispers now in solemn tones, 

" I'm old ; I'm old to-day." 



94 POEMS. 



THE CHILD'S LAMENT. 



As I walked with noiseless footsteps 

Through the village of the dead, 
Where the tall grass scarcely rustled 

'Neath the pressure of my tread, 
Lying on the cold, damp ground, 

A little form was seen — 
A child not more than ten years old. 

O God, what could it mean ? 

Little arms the tombstone clasped, 

Her lips breathed forth the name, 
•Weeping eyes were raised to heaven, 

From whence our Saviour came ; 
Golden curls were crushed in anguish. 

As I see them in my dreams, 
When the beauty of the starlight 

Lingers like the morning beams. 

She softly raised her eyes to heaven. 
Murmured " Mother," low in tone ; 



POEMS. 95 

While down lier shoulders hung the tresses 
Which the cold night air had blown. 

" Mother ! mother ! come to Lillie, 
As she lies upon this sod, 

Weeping with such heavy anguish, 
While you're resting safe with God. 

" Mother ! mother ! earth is dreary — 

Very dreary, sad, and lone ; 
Mother ! 'tis your Lillie calls you — 

Won't you hear, and then come home ? " 
Thus she moaned on 'mid her weeping. 

Little fingers clasped in prayer, 
While the dews of silent evening 

Rested on her golden hair. 

Softly I approached, and raised her 

From the damp and chilly ground, 
Told her, in my fondest accents, 

Of that mother, starry-crowned, 
Hushed her weeping, anguish, moaning, 

Pushed the curls back from her brow. 
Kissed the lips, so dry and trembling, 

Bade her hush her sorrow now. 



96 POEMS. 

Told her I had lost a mother, 

And had been alone for years ; 
Pointed to the low, dark grave-bed, 

That was wet with falling tears ; 
Pointed to another, distant, 

Where my sister dear was laid ; 
Said my heart was bowed Avith sorrow 

When for her that bed was made. 

Sad she listened to my story. 

As I smoothed her falling hair, 
And then, kneeling softly near me. 

Clasped her dimpled hands in prayer. 
Fell from lips low words of praising ; 

Trembling words were faintly said. 
Then rising from the place I left her — 

Left her with her precious dead. 



POEMS. 97 



LINES TO LITTLE FANNIE. 



Hark ! I hear the pattering 

Of little dancing feet, 
And I turn with beaming smiles 

A little face to greet. 
A frame of dark brown curls appears, 

With eyes of azure hue ; 
They sparkle like the lily's cup, 

Bathed with the morning dew. 

In loving tones I speak her name. 

And press her to my heart, 
And long to have her for my own, 

And never from her part. 
A sudden clasp of little arms. 

My name is whispered low. 
While thus she pleads so sweet and clear, 

" Please, Carrie, let me go." 
7 



98 POEMS. 

I kiss once more her dimpled cheek, 

As fair as earth's bright morn ; 
I catch a glimpse of sunny curls, 

I turn — but she is gone. 
And now her little tiny feet 

Are tripping through the dance. 
And looking up in roguish glee, 

Her sparkling blue eyes glance. 

O Fannie ! joyous, happy child ! 

Dance on in childhood's hour ; 
Let Love and Friendship, Truth and Grace, 

Bequeath their lowly dower ; 
Drink thou ever at those fountains — 

Ever drain their golden cup ; 
And when thy hour to die draws near, 

" May the angels take thee up." 



POEMS. 99 



THE CAPTIVE BIRD'S LAMENT 



"What aileth birdie mine? 

Why droop his head? 
Why flutter in his cage ? 

Why gaze with dread 
In this fair face of mine ? 

Tell me, birdie dear. 
There is water in your cup, 

Sparkling ever clear. 
There are seeds so fresh and white ; 

Taste them — they are sweet ; 
Yet you flutter nervously, 

And 'gainst your wires beat. 
What aileth birdie mine ? 

Why still thy note? 
Why is thy breast so ruffled? 

Why heaves thy throat ? " 

*' Mistress dear, mistress dear, 
Sad is my heart, 



100 POEMS. 



And every sudden noise I hear 

Causes me to start. 
The woods look green and fair, 

Mistress dear, to me, 
And upon the boughs so tall 

Many birds I see." 

" Birdie mine, birdie mine, 

Why breathe this lay ? 
'Tis too sad to please my heart : 

Be happy while you may. 
Utter then a joyous tone, 

Birdie dear, birdie dear, 
And I'll lave your golden head 

With the water clear. 
Envy you the wild-wood songsters, 

Singing in the dell? 
' Answer, birdie ; answer, dear, 

And thy sorrows tell." 

" O mistress dear, my heart is sad. 
My bosom wildly beats ; 

But as I pine, one song I'll sing ; 
'Tis, Liberty is sweet." 



POEMS. 101 

** Liberty ! O birdie mine, 

You've a gilded home ; 
And with cherries, ripe and red, 

Every morn I come. 
Would you wish to leave me now 

Here alone to weep, 
While you wing among the trees, 

And bathe in water sweet ? 
O birdie, cease complaining ; 

Lift your golden breast, 
And come and look so lovingly 

From out your little nest. 
What ! still you droop your head, 

Still you breathe your moan? 
O birdie dear, sing merrily, 

In gayer, happier tone." 

" Mistress dear, mistress dear, 

Still my heartstrings beat ; 
But though dying, still I'll sing * 

O, Liberty is sweet." 

" Birdie dear, cease complaining ; 
Look ! I open wide your door ! 



102 POEMS. 



Hasten, birdie, to the green wood, 
High upon the tree-tops soar. 

Hasten, birdie, cease your moaning, 
Sing in gladsome, joyful song ; 

Hasten, birdie, to the wild-wood, 
For the day is almost done." 

" Mistress dear, I'll ever love you ; 

And, in summer's golden day. 
At your window I'll come tapping. 

Pouring out a joyful lay. 
Mistress, dear one, I am going ; 

Soon I'll come again to you ; 
But now I go to yonder woodlands ; 

Mistress dear, adieu, adieu." 



POEMS. 103 



MEMORY 



Faded and worn are the pictures to-night 
Memory brings from her storehouse to mc ; 

Weary and sad, tear-stained and bleared, 
From her dark castle over the sea. 

As I bask in the glow of the moon to-night 
Pale phantoms group in the hall. 

Some with countenance worn and sad, 
And I fancy my name they call. 

O, give me the scenes of youthful days, 

I then was a gladsome child ; 
And stream, and hill, and wood, and dell 

Echoed to my laughter wild. 

But now another scene doth rise, 

Dimmed with both pain and sorrow ; 

When Hope hath meekly folded her hands, 
And si2:hed for a bri'^rhter to-morrow. 



104 POEMS. 

Pale Memory brings her gifts to me 
From out of the gloomy past ; 

But sighing, I turn to the present again, 
And pray for her pleasures to last. 

Sweet Memory comes with tear-stained eye, 
And parts my hair of brown, 

Asks me to choose, in a voice so low, 
Between her and the future's frown. 

I reach forth my hand to Memory ; 

Sad though her treasures may be, 
Yet sweeter by far is her voice so low, 

Than the voice of the future to me. 

Still I sit and dream o'er the sad, sad scene 
Loved Memory brings to me, 

With chastened heart and tear-dimmed eye, 
From her watch-tower over the sea. 



POEMS. 105 



THE BROOK AND RIVER." 



A CHILD, with softly folded hands, 

Gazed on a brook, whose silver sands 

Danced over meadows green and gray, 

Chasing sunbeams in happy play. 

The child, a fair and gentle girl. 

With eyes of brown, and glossy curl, 

Stood gazing on the brook so clear, 

Ne'er dreaming of a shade of care. 

'Twas a picture for an artist's eye : 

The waving trees and clear blue sky. 

The water rippling on so still, 

The sparkling water of the rill. 

The child moved on with careless feet, 

To where " the brook and river" meet, 

Where fragrant lilies, tall and rank. 

And violets blue fringed o'er its bank. 

The brook and river hurried on. 

Reflecting rays of the gladsome sun. 

While the child drew near, with trembling feet. 

To where the brook and river meet. 



106 POEMS. 

She stood and gazed on the water bhie, 

That child so loving, so fond, and true, 

Then fearlessly stepped, with dimpled feet, 

Into the streamlet cold and deep. 

She crossed the brook to the distant shore. 

Where many a one hath crossed before ; 

A child she was on the other side, 

But now a maiden, in beauty and pride. 

Her curls, so full of childish grace, 

Are smoothly brushed from her fair young face, 

And instead of the gay and laughing voice. 

Which always made our hearts rejoice, 

Is one so sober and full of pride ; 

For he whom she loves stands by her side. 

She has left those fairy-tripping feet 

Yonder, — where the brook and river meet ; 

She goes from the lighted hall a bride. 

With one she deems both true and tried ; 

And her eyes, so brown, so meek and mild, 

Are beaming even as when a child. 

But still in sorrow's calm, sad hour, 

As she weeps alone in her vine-clad bower, 

She longs again, with fairy feet, 

To dance where brook and river meet. 



POEMS. 107 



THE BLIND CHILD. 



While sootliing winds and soft mild air 

Are fanning gently thine auburn hair, 

And calm blue sky is clear above, 

Which thou canst not see, O child of love, 

The soft mild zephyrs breathe on thy cheek, 

And the velvet rose is blushing meek, 

Thy fond mother's eyes are tearful, yet kind. 

As she looks on the face of little Clare — blind. 

The arbor is cheerful as sunshine in May, 
And thy sisters are dancing in merriest play ; 
The bees on the wing breathe the sweet-scented air. 
While thou, my dear boy, so young and so fair. 
Art lying all still in thy little white bed. 
And catching with joy my echoing tread ; 
But the eye of thy mother is tearful, yet kind. 
As she looks on the face of little Clare — blind. 



108 POEMS. 

Thy brothers are joining in boisterous play, 

And, shouting aloud, are bounding away 

To chase, with thy sisters, the bee on the wing, 

And to laugh, and to dance, and merrily sing ; 

But thy mother is gazing, in agony wild, 

On. the face of her boy, so calm, yet so mild. 

And bows her crushed heart, and finds sweet relief 

In deep scalding tears — the balm for all gi'ief. 

Thy couch is spread over wdth flowerets fair. 
And wreaths of sweet jasmine are twined in thy hair ; 
But thy dark eyes forever are closed to the light. 
And thine own mother's face imparts no delight ; 
She whispers thy name in tenderest tone, 
But hears no sweet voice respond to her own ; 
Thy little pale hands are tossed in thy pain ; 
But O, my dear child, to die will be gain. 



POEMS. 100 



THE ANGEL'S CALL. 



The golden sun was sinking 

Beliind the western hill, * 

Wearing a smiling, cheerful face. 

And knowing nought of ill. 
It shed its lustrous beauty 

Over a maiden fair. 
And reflected on the roses 

That were fading in her hair. 
She was lying on a snow-white couch, 

With short and quivering breath, 
And weeping friends had gathered round 

To await the angel Death. 
She raised her pale and dying liaud ; 

A smile beamed o'er her i'acc ; 
"Dear friends, I leave yon now," she said ; 

" In heaven there's 'perfect j)cace ; ' 
The golden gates wide open are ; 

I see a heavenly liglit, 
And fairy bells are ringing clear : 

O ! 'tis a blissful sight. 



110 POEMS. 

Metliinks I hear the music sweet 

Of aogels drawing near ; 
They are calling, they are whispering — 

Sister Edith, come up here ! " 
She turned her eyes on all around ; 

A smile played o'er her face ; 
"I'm almost home," she faintly said, 

"Nearing to perfect peace." 
A heavenly light filled all the room, 

Kustling of wings was heard. 
And angel voices filled the air, 

Sweeter than that of bird. 
We raised our darling Edith's form ; 

"We moved her weary head ; 
We called her name in loving tones, — 

But she, our child, was dead. 
So gently had she plumed her flight, 

We could but think her here, 
Still twining Avith her pale, meek hands 

The roses in her hair. 
A smile still played about her lips ; 

Her eyes were sparkling, too, 
And fragrant flowers on her breast 

Bent 'neath their Avei"fht of dew. 



POEMS. Ill 

Our darling's form we robed at last, 

And laid her down to sleep, 
Tlien turned away with silent tread ; 

Our eyes refused to weep. 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 



Castles in the balmy air, 

They wrap my fancy bright. 
And scenes of youthful happy days 

Entrance my vision's sight. 
Castles in the balmy air, 

Ye float in numbers free, 
And dance with joyful, calm delight 

O'er meadow and o'er sea ; 
Ye float o'er billows wild and deep. 

Ye toss the sparkling foam, 
And gladden the weary sailor's heart 

With visions of his home ; 
Ye visit the chamber of the sick. 

Ye fan that young brow fair, 
While Aveary patient gazes round, 

And smiles at flight of care. 



112 POEIiIS. 



He courts of thee refreshing sleep, 

That shuts his eyes so dim, 
And sees in visions future joy 

Ye kindly bring to him. 
Then let him slumber sweetly now, 

And onward speed along, 
To waken lips long pent from speech 

To gladsome, joyful song. 
The little child in garments old. 

Ye cheer her drooping heart, 
And in her toil of begging bread 

She joyfully doth start ; 
For in her glee, she sees a home 

AYith those who love and cherish ; 
And, smiling still, goes gladly on ; 

Alas ! that dreams must perish. 
Castles in the balmy air. 

How beautiful ye seem ! 
Ye shed your radiance far and wide. 

Like morning's blushing beam. 
Then gently float before me now, 

And fan away my care ; 
For still I long to greet the sight 

Of castles in the air. 



